statements close the
list of her virtues. She was equally grasping, unscrupulous, and
extravagant. In her old age she retired to the Convent of Amesbury,
where her two granddaughters, Mary of England, and Alianora of Bretagne,
were nuns already, for the desirable purpose of "making her salvation."
Perhaps she thought she had made it when the summons came to her in the
autumn of 1291. No voice had whispered to her, all through her long
life of nearly eighty years, that if that ever were to be--

"Jesus Christ has done it all
Long, long ago."

Matters had settled down quietly enough in Whitehall Palace. Sir Fulk
de Chaucombe and Diana had been promoted to the royal household--the
former as attendant upon the King, the latter as Lady of the Bedchamber
to his eldest daughter, the Princess Alianora, who, though twenty-seven
years of age, was still unmarried. It was a cause of some surprise in
her household that the Countess of Cornwall did not fill up the vacancy
created among her maidens by the marriages of Clarice and Diana. But
when December came it was evident that before she did so she meant to
make the vacancy still more complete.

One dark afternoon in that cheerful month, the Lady Margaret marched
into the bower, where her female attendants usually sat when not engaged
in more active waiting upon her. It was Saturday.

"Olympias Trusbut, Roisia de Levinton," she said in her harsh voice,
which did not sound unlike the rasping of a file, "ye are to be wed on
Monday morning."

Olympias showed slight signs of going into hysterics, which being
observed by the Lady Margaret, she calmly desired Felicia to fetch a jug
of water. On this hint of what was likely to happen to her if she
imprudently screamed or fainted, Olympias managed to recover.

"Ye are to wed the two squires," observed their imperious mistress. "I
gave the choice to Reginald de Echingham, and he fixed on thee,
Olympias."

Olympias passed from terror to ecstasy.

"Thou, Roisia, art to wed Ademar de Gernet. I will give both of you
your gear."

And away walked the Countess.

"I wish she would have let me alone," said Roisia, in doleful accents.

"Too much to hope for," responded Felicia.

"Dost thou not like De Gernet?" asked Clarice, sympathisingly.

"Oh, I don't dislike him," said Roisia; "but I am not so fond of him as
that comes to."

An hour or two later, however, Mistress Underdone appeared, in a state
of flurry by no mean